Daggers
by ActingLovingAardvark
Summary: Bella Swan, a poor sixteen year old living in post World War 3 New York, wins a contest to attend a prestigious boarding school that introduces her to the Cullens and Hales, along with a new life that is both glamorous and dangerous... AH and AU in 2030.
1. The Introduction

**Author's Note: I do not own Twilight. Twilight and all of the characters are the creation of Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended. **

**Hello! Thanks for showing up at this story. It's really different from what I usually write, and I'm not really sure how the idea for it popped into my head. I guess it's because I've read a lot of action and dystopian novels lately. **_**Anyway**_**, I'm going to give this a shot, and I hope you like it. For those of you who have read my other stories, this has nothing to do with my post-Breaking Dawn saga. This is not Alex and Parker's world. They will **_**not**_** be in this story. I'm thrusting Bella and the Cullens into an all-human, alternate universe. Should be interesting... Well, I hope you enjoy! Read on, lovelies. **

* * *

_"There's daggers in men's smiles..."_

_- Macbeth, 2,3,140_

**Bella Swan**

**New York City**

**Late August, 2030**

* * *

A slight drizzle began to fall as I made my way through the city streets. I kept my gaze down at my feet, keeping myself inconspicuous. If I stayed near-invisible, I could probably get back home with the groceries without trouble.

I had three bags in my arms, and I noticed how much heavier they felt the further I traveled. Shifting them around, I freed one of my hands so I could pull up the hood of my black jacket. The raindrops were getting bigger, landing on the ground in audible plops.

I passed by a row of withering, abandoned row homes that were very common in the city of New York. Many of the building here were in the very same state, due to the war and people's inability to pay to keep them.

New York City is different than it used to be, according to the older generation here, but this is all that I remember. The city has always been like this to me. I was only three years old when North Korea dropped the super bombs, signaling the start of World War Three. I was born in September of two-thousand fourteen. North Korea attacked in October of two-thousand seventeen.

I do remember my elderly neighbor, Miss Deborah, say that it was a surprise to the country when North Korea bombed us. She told me that they had a failed missile attempt in two-thousand twelve.

However, North Korea didn't just act alone. It turns out that, in secret, they had been bribing key political figures in Russia. They were the ones that helped North Korea develop the super bombs.

The super bombs, while not nuclear weapons, were incredibly powerful. North Korea and Russia managed to drop them on every state capital and major U.S. city... including New York. Washington DC was bombed, killing the President, Vice President, and a majority of the members of the U.S. Senate and House of Representatives.

The government crumbled, causing the country to fall into a state of emergency and, naturally, full-fledged panic. Against regular procedures, the remaining high-level officials nominated someone to take over as President. Senator Jacob Briars, a Democrat from Pennsylvania, took over to try and rebuild the country that had fallen. The government changed, leaving just the Senate. Since the states were in such turmoil, elections weren't held to replace the fallen Senate members. The people who were alive stayed. They all worked together, and the two parties were pretty much eliminated. My mom said that's the only time she's ever seen the parties work together.

Along with the change in Senate, the currency system had to be recreated. Factories were shut down, making food and other necessities scarce. The country was knocked on its back.

The people were crippled. Most of the country's population was wiped out because of the bombs, and the ones that were left had to fight to survive. They took refuge in large buildings that weren't destroyed, like schools and malls. The hospitals overflowed with those injured, and soon many of those people couldn't be cared for. Large cities ended up using mass graves for many of those lost.

It became a dog-eat-dog world. Fights broke out in supermarkets and other places that sold the necessities. People beat and even killed one another to get the things they needed.

Myself and my parents were spared from the bombs, thanks to the fact we were visiting family friends outside of the city. My parents' friends, Amy and Ethan, lived in a modest, two-story home about thirty minutes away from New York City. It was there, on their television, that the breaking news of the bombings came across. New York was hit in Times Square and The 9/11 Memorial. My parents, Renee and Charlie Swan, left me with their friends and sped home to the city hoping to salvage anything of ours they could.

My family wasn't poor, but we weren't filthy rich by any means. My mom was a sun-loving real estate agent and plant enthusiast. My dad was a great cop for the NYPD. We lived in a modest, two-bedroom apartment in the city, but my parents were too late getting back before looters came and took most of our things. The building wasn't destroyed, but several buildings down the road faced damage from flying debris.

Due to the bombings, my mother lost her job. Real estate became virtually unimportant. My father, however, became incredibly busy, calming riots and fights. He was rarely around for a long time.

Because of the looters and sky-rocketed crime rate, we ended up staying with Amy and Ethan. Ethan was a cop, like my father, so the two of them were gone for very long periods of time. They still made money, while not too much of it. Companies weren't enforcing the bills get paid as much, so the five of us were able to remain in Amy and Ethan's home.

After the devastating blows, the United States went to war with North Korea and Russia, who were assisted by Afghanistan and Yemen. However, many of the countries in the world joined the U.S. to fight, including England, France, Germany, Australia, and Canada. Because of strong morale and outside help, we won the war... but it came with a price. A vast majority of the solders, many of them drafted unwillingly, were killed in battle. Because of the bombs and the fighting, two-thirds of the country's population was wiped out...

My father and Ethan included. They were drafted about ten months after the fighting began, and were in the military for two years. The two of them were shot in the line of fire.

It was really hard for my mother and Amy. It just became the three of us, and the ladies were going back and forth between looking for work and taking care of me.

I was only five when my father was killed, and even though I was young during the war, I still understood everything going on. My father died to protect the country I lived in, and eventually I accepted that. I was mature for my age, but with that maturity came isolation. I was clumsy, quiet, and didn't really get along with kids my age. While they all wanted to play sports and spend time with one another, I much preferred being alone with a book.

Schools were rebuilt and reopened when I was seven. I got good grades, but found myself sitting alone at lunch. My typical recess consisted of me sitting on the swingset, watching the other kids have the time of their young lives.

My father's death changed my mother. When I was young, she was happy, energetic, and loved to have a good time. Now, she was much quieter, like myself, and was constantly tired, due to the fact that she had to work numerous jobs to make ends meet. Her hobby of growing plants died out. I didn't get to see her as often as would like, but without her working we'd be out on the streets. We were no longer able to depend on Amy for help...

She committed suicide two months after Ethan was killed.

It was now two-thousand thirty in the United States. The country has been slowly but surely rebuilding itself since the war ended in two-thousand twenty-two. Technology and medical development came to a standstill after the bombings, but now they were beginning to prosper once more. Although, much of the country was still knee-deep in poverty. The new New York City had many empty buildings that used to house apartments and companies. Times Square was never rebuilt to be as impressive as it was, but now it was a big marketplace. People set up tables, selling things like clothes, produce, and other household goods, whether factory or hand made. Money is always accepted for buying products, but a lot of times those who aren't as well off use the barter system. I'm one of the people frequently trading one thing for another.

The raindrops were coming on faster, and I picked up my pace until I reached the alley that housed my home, Miss Deborah's, and our twenty-four year old neighbor, Amanda, who had a two-year-old daughter named Lizzie. Our three apartments have one bedroom each, and to access one of the front doors, you had to climb a flight of metal stairs to a landing. Amanda and Lizzie's apartment was across the alley from my apartment and Miss Deborah's.

The first flight of stairs on the left led to my front door, but I passed by that. I walked under the clothesline that Amanda had hung from wall to wall of the alley, and was happy to see that all the clothes had already been taken in before the rain reached them. The cans in one of the grocery bags rattled as I made my way up the set of stairs to Miss Deborah's apartment.

I fished out the key to her front door out of my jeans pocket and opened the door. Miss Deborah was seated in her rocking chair, watching a soap opera on her little television. Her gray hair was in a small bun on top of her head, and when she saw me her bright blue eyes lit up.

"Hello Ms. Swan," she said with a smile. "How's the weather outside?"

Miss Deborah was like the grandmother I wish I had. My parents had not been close with THEIR parents, so I had never met my grandparents. Miss Deborah was in her eighties, and could barely get around with a cane. She wasn't able to do things for herself, and since her husband and only son were killed in the bombings, I took care of her. I looked after her and did little odds and ends for her, such as grocery shopping and taking her clothes to the Laundromat a few blocks away.

She paid me for my help, but while it wasn't a large sum of money and no workplaces were hiring teens, it was better than nothing. I gave most of it to my mother, but kept some on the side for myself. On occasion, Miss Deborah pays me in things that I can trade in Times Square, like old, collectible coins from before long before the new currency system. She knows I like to read, so sometimes she gives me classic novels. I devour them whenever I get my hands on them.

"The rain's just starting up," I told her as I made my way to the kitchen to put away her groceries. "It wasn't doing anything while I was walking here."

"Good, good," she murmured. "I'm glad it didn't cause you any trouble."

I couldn't help but smile as I placed the three bags on Miss Deborah's small kitchen island.

"You don't have to worry about me, Miss Deborah," I said as I grabbed the gallon of milk and placed it in the fridge.

"Of course I do," she said. "You're such a young girl, not even sixteen yet. Speaking of which, how many more days until your special day?"

I shut the fridge door. "About two and a half weeks."

"Lovely! Your sweet sixteen!" she said with a delighted little clap. "Sixteen was one of my best years. And when does school start up? After labor day?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, fighting to hold back a sigh. I would be a junior (yes, I had a later birthday) this upcoming school year, and I wasn't just dreading it because I had to think about buying school supplies. Being a junior meant I was even closer to graduating high school. I had to really work hard if I wanted to get a scholarship to a college. Several universities reopened years after the bombings, but there were not nearly as many as there used to be. If I didn't get a scholarship, I couldn't even _dream_ about going to college. My mom and I just couldn't afford it.

"Wonderful!" Miss Deborah cheered as I grabbed several cans of cranberries, peaches, and corn out of a bag. "You're growing up _so_ fast! Before you know it, you'll be getting married and having kids!"

Shock and my clumsy side getting the best of me, I lost my hold on all the cans. They slipped out of my hands and went tumbling to the floor, one landing right on my foot.

I let out a pained yelp as Miss Deborah asked, "Sorry, too soon. I'm rushing things."

"N-no, you're fine," I stammered, a furious blush spreading across my face. I bent over to pick up the cans. "Just took me by surprise... that's all."

"Oh, very well then," she said as I opened the cabinet above the fridge and placed the cans inside.

I put away the rest of the groceries away in silence, and then folded up the cloth bags I used and put them under Miss Deborah's sink. She was flipping through channels on her television when I walked back into the living room.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" I asked her.

"Actually, sweetheart, if you don't mind, can you grab my quilt off my bed? I'm a little chilly," she told me.

I nodded, walking back and opening the small white door that led to her room. I made my way through the dark room and turned on her bedside lamp. Her bed was made, and her quilt sat on top of her pillow. I ran my fingers along the knit fabric. Miss Deborah once had told me that her and her mother had made that together when she was just a little girl. I wish that _my_ mom and I could have done something like this... but this quilt was made in a time before the bombs destroyed everything. A time where things were simpler.

I picked up the quilt, turned off the lamp, and headed back out to Miss Deborah.

"Thank you, dear," she murmured when I handed her the quilt. "Are you available tomorrow morning? I need you to run my clothes to the Laundromat."

Of course. It wasn't like I had any plans or friends to see.

"Sure, I can do that," I told her.

"Excellent, thank you so much!" she said, pulling a wad of bills out of the pocket of her skirt. She placed them in my hand and I quickly moved them into a safe spot. A force of habit, I suppose.

"No problem, Miss Deborah," I replied. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

She patted me on the arm. "Stay safe, my dear. You have so much ahead of you."

**-oOo-**

I didn't know, at the time, how right she really was. I had no idea what was yet to come.

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**Well, here 'ya go. What do you think? Like this idea? Hate it? Let me know what you think!**


	2. The Announcement

Author's Note: I do not own Twilight. Twilight and all of the characters are the creation of Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.

Well, I'm glad to see some alerts and reviewers for this story! I hope to get some more in the future :)

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**Bella Swan**

**New York City**

**Late August 2030**

* * *

"_No problem, Miss Deborah," I replied. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."_

_She patted me on the arm. "Stay safe, my dear. You have so much ahead of you."_

**-oOo-**

I pretty much jogged down the stairs that led to Miss Deborah's door, almost tripping in the process, in an eager attempt to get out of there. I didn't want to be bogged down with the thoughts of my future, yet she had to bring it up.

I had no idea what tomorrow would bring, and if I couldn't face _that_ fact, then there was _no way_ I wanted to think past college. Marriage and kids?

I sighed, grabbing a lock of my brown hair. Necessarily, I don't think I'd be considered _ugly_. I had large and bright eyes, well-defined cheekbones, and a heart-shaped faced. My skin was the pale shade of someone who has never seen the sun, but that's part of my genes. I've never had a boyfriend, or have any boy have interest in me for that matter, but I don't think it necessarily had to do with my looks. It's probably because of my quiet, keep-to-myself kind of nature.

It wasn't pouring outside, but the rain was coming down in a steady flow. In spite of my swirling thoughts, I smiled to myself as I walked past Miss Deborah's stairs and towards the back of the alley. At the end and to the left, the concrete stopped and there sat a garden in a courtyard area. Flowers and various grasses grew there, but what was most precious to me were the three blackberry bushes.

The bushes weren't huge things, but they were a good size and always bore fruit year after year. This courtyard where they grew was nice- it got sunlight several hours of the day, got water when it rained, and was concealed from those who walked by our alley. The people that were in the worst shape were known to take anything they could find that could keep them alive.

I checked the three bushes, and while the amount of berries has tapered off since the summer went by, I still had about a dozen berries to pick. Plucking them off the bushes, I stuck them in the pockets of my jacket and made my way back to my apartment.

As I turned the corner, I narrowly avoided stepping in a tiny puddle that had formed. I couldn't afford to get my combat boots wet, seeing as they were one of the best and most durable pairs of shoes I had. Not to mention they wouldn't be cheap to replace.

I bounded up the steps to my front door, fishing my key out of my shoe to unlock the door. When I went inside, I found the living room light on and, passed out on the couch, was my mother.

Her brown hair was draped over her eyes, and her mouth was slightly ajar as she slept, which caused a fine line of drool to trickle down her face. Seeing that it was just after three-thirty in the afternoon, she was in between work shifts for her jobs. In the morning, she was a secretary at a day spa for people that could actually _afford_ the luxury. Yet, in the evenings, she was a waitress at a dive bar not too far from the Times Square trading hub.

My mother let out a small snore, and I took in the old t-shirt and ratty sweatpants she must have thrown on when she got back. I glanced around the room until I found her day spa uniform. The grey blazer, skirt, and white blouse were lying in a ball underneath the coffee table. Sighing, I picked them up and headed towards our rinky-dink washer and dryer we had behind the kitchen. My mother did have a few other sets of her uniform, but this one needed to be cleaned- _badly_.

My mom worked incredibly hard to make money for us – I understood that – and that left her tired, but on top of that, she was rather absent-minded. Because of that, the roles were almost reversed in our home. I did the majority of the cleaning and made sure that _she_ had food for in between shifts, that _her_ clothes were clean. I guess the fact that I'm so independent is that I've almost taken care of my mother for the majority of my life.

I scooped up the small pile of light-colored clothes that had accumulated next to the washer and threw them in with one arm – a habit I had to develop due to the fact that our washer was in such bad shape that lid wouldn't stay open itself, you had to hold it open.

After getting the clothes started, I went back towards my mother and gently shook her shoulder. If she stayed asleep much longer, she might be late for work… _again_. Due to her frequently falling asleep the minute she got home, she was sometimes late for work. That and she occasionally underestimates the time it'll take her to get ready and then walk to the bar.

She mumbled incoherently.

"Mom," I muttered. "It's after three thirty. You need to get up or-"

"Crap!" she said as her eyes flew open. She jumped up from the couch and ran into the bedroom we shared, shutting the door behind her.

Figuring she probably hadn't eaten yet, I went into the kitchen and pulled out her apple from the fridge.

I heard a dresser drawer slam, followed by a muffled curse.

Shaking my head, I could help but laugh at her usual antics. I popped a slice of bread into the toaster for her, the proceeded to grab a little bowl from the cabinet. The berries I picked had to be washed before I could take them to Times Square to trade them.

A few minutes later, my mother came jogging into the room in her grey bar t-shirt and jeans. She pulled her hair up into a bun and her toast came up, so I left my berries in their bowl and grabbed a plate for her food.

"Thank you, sweetie," she said when I handed her the plate, planting a kiss on my cheek.

"Sure thing," I told her, turning back to the sink.

"Did you get many berries today?" she inquired, taking a noisy bite out of her apple.

"Only a dozen," I sighed, running the bowl under cool water.

"Oh," she muttered. "That's too bad."

Usually, in the beginning of the summer, the berry pickings would be plentiful, and I could always spare her some before I went to trade them. Today, however, I could not.

She took a bite of her toast, and with a full mouth she said, "How was Miss Deborah today?"

I tried not to grimace at my mother. "She was fine. Watching her soap opera as usual when I got there."

My mother chuckled, and a hint of those old laugh lines around her eyes showed. She was silent for a moment, making me think she wanted to say something, and when I shut off the water she asked her burning question.

"Are you going to watch the Bellamy drawing tonight?"

Gritting my teeth, I sat the bowl of berries on the counter. I had I feeling she would be bringing this up.

Seeing as it was a Saturday, and a larger part of the United States population was not working, the winner of a nationwide contest would be announced at nine p.m., Eastern Time.

The prize for this drawing? Phenomenal. Spectacular... and only for children in grades six through twelve.

When my mother said the Bellamy drawing, it was in reference to Bellamy Academy, the most prestigious school in the country. Located in the Appalachian Mountains near the Maryland-Pennsylvania border line, it's relatively new- only been open for five years. Since it is the greatest school in the continental US, only the most well-to-do children go there. Children of politicians, celebrities, influential doctors, and more go there- it's the best of the best. The best facilities, the best classes, the best… everything.

Since this was such a _fantastic_ school, the high staff of the academy thought it would be wonderful to offer a lower-class student an opportunity to attend this school for free. Personally, I didn't think they were doing this out of the goodness of their hearts, but to get good publicity. In my honest opinion, I felt like much of the people in this country who had money and were living well didn't care about the poor people below them. Those teens in Bellamy Academy? They probably hated the idea of having an outsider enter their "inner sanctum". I didn't want to enter this contest because, even if by some chance I _did_ win, I didn't want to have wealthy, snobby kids look down on me.

Despite my thoughts, my mother wanted me to enter. She knew how important my education was to me, and going to this school could be an amazing opportunity. Of course, I didn't disagree, but what if I did win? I guess I could eventually get past the dislike of my fellow students… but I couldn't leave. I took care of Miss Deborah every day, and I was all she had left. Who would help her out if I was gone?

And my mother. She'd be all alone if I was gone. As much as it made me feel self-centered to say it, she needed me almost as much as Miss Deborah. Who would wake her up if she overslept? Who would help her with the little things when she was running late?

Sucking myself back into reality, I grabbed a paper towel to lay the berries out to dry. "Sure, I guess I'll watch the drawing."

"And are you sure you don't want to enter?" my mother questioned.

I groaned internally. "Yes. I'm sure."

I turned to look at her, and she seemed conflicted. She was wringing her fingers together, something I only saw her do when she was really upset.

"What's wrong?" I asked her.

"I… Well…" she stammered. "I just… think it would be a great opportunity."

She seemed like there was something else she wanted to say, but she remained silent. I sighed and turned back to my berries.

"I guess you better be going, mom," I said. "I wouldn't want you to be late."

"Okay," she whispered. "I'll see you tomorrow."

I heard her footsteps walk out of the apartment. Her half-eaten toast was left behind on the table.

_What a waste_, I thought.

* * *

The rain had let up, and the sun was making its way through the clouds. It was only a little after four, yet the streets were already getting crowded with civilians getting off of work. Different types of people passed me by. One could definitely say that New York City was the perfect place for people watching.

The crowds and noise began to increase as I made my way towards the Times Square Trading Hub. People were running back and forth, speaking loudly to one another, many items in their hands and arms. Tables and stands were set up in rows, so once you entered the areas you could walk along one row and move on to the next. People brought their own tables, and the earlier you got there in the morning – some people showed up at five – the better chance you have at picking the spot of your choosing.

There was such a large variety of items sold there that it would be impossible to list them all. People sold produce, furniture, books, clothing accessories, and so many other things. If you could think of an item, it was probably at the Trading Hub.

To get where I was going, I had to head towards the back of Times Square. There, at a small fold-up table in the corner of the final row, was Anna. Anna was a sweet woman in her mid-fifties, with short, light brown hair that barely showed any grey and piercing green eyes. Her table wasn't decorated to grab attention, but if you knew her, you'd know that she made wise trades and had lots of things to offer.

With a first glance, she didn't seem like the person that got here when the Trading Hub first opened, but she was here, every day at five. The back corner was her favorite spot, and she got it. Anna was, without a doubt, a secret veteran trader.

I remember the first time I met her. I was twelve years old and had just begun to venture into Times Square. All the people had made me anxious at that age, and since I was so overwhelmed I ran to the back of the Trading Hub, where the crowd seemed to be less dense. Anna sensed that I was a little frazzled, so she called me over to her stand and I complied. She was a piece of calm in the craziness, which left me no choice but to trust her.

What a wonderful choice that was.

Anna showed me a collection of books and plays she had, and titles I hadn't recognized at the time intrigued me. _The Catcher in the Rye_. _To Kill a Mockingbird_. _Gone With the Wind_. _Romeo and Juliet_. She introduced me to classic pieces, and I still love them to this day.

The first book she let me borrow was The Catcher in the Rye, and when I told her I didn't think I had enough money to pay for it, she lent it to me.

"Bring it back when you're done," she had said. "We'll discuss it."

A smile on my face, I raced back home that day and read the book in one sitting. I found myself going back to Times Square the next day, and the crowds didn't seem so bad. That chance encounter with Anna started a bond that grew stronger as the years went on.

Now, three years later, I approached her table, the berries I collected in a plastic bag in my hoodie pocket. I found out that Anna _loved_ blackberries and traded many things for them – they were her favorite fruit.

"Hey Anna," I said with a smile.

"Evening, Bella," she replied. "Got any goodies for me?"

I chuckled. "Yeah, luckily, I do. They're becoming scarce, though. These may be the last of them."

She frowned. "Darn. I love those things."

I handed her the bag of berries, and she flashed me a grin.

"Excellent," she murmured. "I think these are worthy of some delightful Shakespeare."

I smiled once more, and she handed me a copy of The Tempest. This had been one of the few Shakespeare pieces I hadn't read yet, and I had been looking forward to it ever since Anna said she would try to get her hands on a copy.

"Yes! Thank you, Anna," I told her.

"Don't mention it," she said. "And please, try not to read the whole thing in one day. I'm running out of books for you."

I laughed. "I think I'll be okay. I can usually take only so much Shakespeare at one time."

With huge and promises to see each other soon, I headed back to my apartment. I kept my usual routine- keep your head down, move at a reasonable speed. Though, I felt I would be safe. Not many people would mug someone for a _book_.

I got home and sat down on the couch in my living room, flipping on the lamp to give myself some light. I dove right into The Tempest, ready for something new to read.

It took me longer to get through pages because half the time I was trying to convert the Shakespearean language into modern-day words. Before I knew it, it was seven forty-five and I was halfway done with the play. I mentally cursed myself. I promised Anna I wouldn't read this all at once, and now my new piece was almost done.

Groaning, I stood up and went into the kitchen, grabbing one of the final apples we had. Taking a bite, it reminded me of my earlier conversation with my mother, and... The Bellamy drawing was in ten minutes.

That actually made me happy. I could watch this, see the lucky boy or girl win, and then it would all be a thing of the past. My mother would stop bringing it up in conversation, and we could move on.

Almost giddy, I strolled into the living room and plopped back down on the couch, flipping on the TV. We didn't have cable, but all the main channels were broadcasting a live feed.

There was a stage set up in front of a large expanse of trees, and due to the darkness that was beginning to fall, light shone upon it. A large glass bowl sat on a table down stage center, and inside were hundreds and hundreds of paper slips. To the right of the bowl was a podium, and a row of chairs was toward the back of the stage. A row of men and women sat there, speaking amongst each other.

Commentators were speaking to one another, and when a camera would pan onto a face they deemed important, they would talk about him.

The face of a man came on screen, and the commentators began spewing out praise. He had short, jet-black hair, and a mustache of the same color. The man seemed to be a little plump, and he was animatedly talking to someone off camera.

"And there he is," the male commentator said.

"Headmaster Calvin Morris," the female commentator chimed in. "What a wonderful man! He leads the staff of this school with such ease and finesse. I've been told that he, along with Dean Winfield, were the main minds behind this wonderful contest!"

The image on the screen changed to a man who was very... thin. A thin stature, thin nose. With his grey eyes, grey hair, and neutral expression, he seemed very... blah. A stereotypical strict person.

"Ernest Winfield, Dean of Bellamy Academy, looking as young and healthy as ever," said the male commentator.

I snorted.

"The fantastic founder of this school," Female Commentator Lady told us. "It was with his vision and leadership that Bellamy Academy became the institution it is today."

I rolled my eyes. Maybe that, but probably the large amount of money the students' parents' donated.

"Oh, oh," the male commentator gushed. "It looks like it may be time for the drawing."

He said this as Dean Winfield rose from his chair and began to walk towards the podium. He tapped on the microphone, silence fell, and all the people in the chairs fixed their gaze on him.

"Thank you all for tuning in to this momentous occasion," the Dean bellowed, his powerful voice ringing out from the microphone. "We are pleased to be able to reveal the winner of this contest. This privileged youngster will be welcomed into our fine school and treated with the utmost respect. They will learn with highly trained-teachers and receive the best education possible."

The cameras switched to the people sitting in the chairs, and because of that last line by the Dean, I could only assume that they were some of the top teachers at Bellamy. On camera, some of them had straight faces, and some were beaming brightly.

"Now, without further ado, I will draw the name of the lucky winner," Dean Winfield said.

People that had entered the contest had to go to their city hall and register by computer. The names of thousands of hopeful kids were in that glass jar.

But only one could win.

Dean Winfield reached his hand in, gave it a swirl, and out came the tiny slip of white paper. He returned to the podium and slowly unfolded the slip.

"Ladies and gentleman, I am pleased to announce our winner!" the Dean said triumphantly. "Let us have a round of applause for... _Isabella Marie Swan_!"

**-oOo-**

My name. Who would think something so simple could be the spark that started a fire?

I didn't.

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**Alrighty, and there's chapter two for 'ya! If I can get some reviews for this one, I'll try and update earlier. Compromise? ;)**


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